The Darker Fairytales
by LovelyRoseThorns
Summary: AU;"A Cassadine thinks of love as a bruise, an eternal reminder it is there to wound." The show is the same in terms of the storylines for Sam and Alexis. Exploring the remaining Cassadines, including an older-and much more jaded-version of Kristina.


Author's note: Do not ask me exactly where this came from. It probably stems from my complete disappointment with the show. But point blank, it's very AU, for certain reasons, yet it maintains much of the basic plots you see on your screen. The one thing that changes, is I've made Kristina older, for storyline purposes, and explore in-depth the story of Alexis and her daughters. I am not sure if anyone is interested, but I want to explore the Cassadine family at present, twisting a bit of their current positions. Hopefully, it will interest some. Enjoy. :)

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"Do you love me?"

She's not sure why she asks. He's never going to give her the answer she wants, the answer she thinks she deserves. And he knows this as well, which is why he only smiles (but never brightly. It's a sad sort of smile, the kind that only lingers when shadows are behind it), presses the soft of his lips against hers, presses as if it'll ever fill the void his silence leaves.

It never does.

It always angers her, always lets her strike back with the harshness of her kiss, the fisting of her hands on his collar, painfully drawing him close. He must believe this is due to passion. He prefers this ideal to the reality of her, resentful, bitter, because she truly believes _nobody_ loves her first.

Oh, she knows she's loved. She knows it every time she's enveloped into her mother's embrace, or smiled brokenly at by her father. She knows and feels it deeply into her belly, where surely the soul lives as well.

But she's never loved best. Because to her mother there will always be Molly and Sam, and for her father there will always be Michael and Morgan, and it isn't the normal kind of sibling rivalry, because there is so much history between each and every one of her siblings, and hers is the most pathetic of all.

"Kristina," she feels him protest against her mouth. His arms draw her back, and_damn_ it why can't he just take her? Why does everything have to be sweetness and romance all the time? Why must he be so uncomfortable with the intensity of her, the desire of him pushing her against a wall and _taking_her instead of always asking for permission?

She presses her lips into a thin line, bites inwardly her impatience. "Yes, Dillon?"

"Your phone," he pants a little softly.

Frowning, she looks down and surely enough, her brand new Iphone is blinking incessantly (she leaves it on vibrate whenever he's around…).

"It's my mom," she says needlessly, for Alexis Davis blinks in the screen. "I'll answer her later."

She leans back to him, but he pulls away the distance. "What if it's important?"

Gnawing her lip down, she answers the phone for his sake. "Mother?"

"Oh, thank God." The irritation wipes away from Kristina's features, because she knows her mother better than anybody, and whenever her voice sounds as tired and old as it does now, something terrible happens. It's the voice she used to tell Kristina her father was a mobster, the voice she used to explain why Sam shot Diego… the voice she used to tell Kristina she had cancer.

"Mom, is everything okay?"

"Sweetie, you need to come home."

_Home._ The word is completely foreign to her. "What? Why?"

"It's…it's Nikolas, honey."

Her tragic blue eyes lock with Dillon's, his are the gentle brownness that she's always been weak for. "Is he okay?"

"He's dying."

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Her hands play restlessly with themselves throughout the entirety of the train ride. It usually slips by her, the filght from New York to Port Charles but these moments it seems endless. A larger, warmer hand encases hers, laces fingers with her fingers, and she looks up at Dillon.

She doesn't know why she's so besotted with him. He's not really her type—a bit chubby in his build, including the fullness of his cheeks, and spiky hair that doesn't really look like a style at all. His nose is pudgy and a bit wide, but she _loves_ all of it. Because despite his unconventional looks, all she sees when she looks at him is the sweetness and passion he plays the guitar with, the lyrics he notes down when they're at a coffee shop, or the wide surprise of his eyes when they saw each other randomly for the first time after a long time, sweeping through her as he realized she wasn't a little girl anymore. She tries to keep the flashback of Dillon tearfully calling her Georgie after they were first together. She doesn't want the memory.

There was something very Dawson-esque about him. Idealist, hopeful, endlessly capricious. He is so distant from everything she and her world represents, from the darkness of her looks to the intensity she knows makes some uncomfortable.

"He'll be okay," he reassures, pressing his lips to the expanse of her palm, and she falls a little bit in love with him again.

"What do I say?" she asks instead, because she doesn't want to think about Nikolas. He does not love her best either.

She remembers that for a short amount of time, Ric Lansing loved her best. He was the only one. And then Molly was born, Molly who was his true blood and she who was not, she who would always be the reminder of the larger-than-life brother.

"About what?" Dillon frowns, hands slipping away from hers.

"I mean, aren't they going to wonder why we got there together?"

"Oh." He's so gullible, Dillon, and it exasperates and endears her. He still remains a bit innocent and wistful, when she long ago stopped. She's younger, seventeen to his twenty, but she never feels younger than him. "I don't know. We'll tell them bits of the truth they need to know. It's a small world and we saw each other again at a concert, became… close."

Kristina smirks. "And leave out the fact said closeness involves the biblical sense?"

Dillon blushes, but he smiles a bit too, because her brazenness was part of the reason he was taken with her in the first place. It was she who had to ask for his number, and she who called to meet up at his apartment. He made all the other dates, of course, but she never forgets she's the one who first kissed him, who freed the buttons of his shirt that fateful night…

"If you don't mind…" he grimaces. "Not only am I completely terrified of your father, but there's… my mom. And Lulu. And… a lot of people who'd find it—"

"Weird."

"You're not upset, are you?"

"Why would I be upset?" she asks lightly, strained hands flattening the errant strands of hair.

She thinks he might love her, a little. Because he looks at her a bit wondrously, like she's a beautiful gemstone he's just discovered.

But he won't love her best, either.


End file.
